After the Divorce, He Regrets Everything

The air in the foyer still tasted of Isabelle’s copper-scented blood and the salt of my own jagged breath. Around us lay the ruins of my mother’s legacy—shattered jade, torn letters, and the porcelain remains of a life I’d sacrificed to build a gutter rat into a king. Damien stood paralyzed in the wreckage, his designer suit a mockery of the man I’d once thought I loved, while his mistress sobbed a symphony of crocodile tears at his feet. For ten years, I bore his neglect, his infidelities, and the suffocating weight of his silence, but tonight, the Laurent blood in my veins finally ran colder than his ambition. The divorce papers in my hand weren't just an end; they were a death warrant for the Moreau Syndicate. I’d given him everything—my inheritance, my loyalty, my soul—and now, I was going to enjoy watching him realize that the only thing more dangerous than a Laurent’s love is the calculated fury of her goodbye.